


Truce

by valoale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Drarry, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23109031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoale/pseuds/valoale
Summary: “You need to break yourself in order to heal. It’s the inevitable truth. There’s no way around it, no matter how people try. You cannot fully heal if you won’t face the most painful things in your life and look at them objectively. And one must do it alone. People may help you along the way and offer you strength and solutions, but you’re the one who’s back to back with yourself. You’re the one to call the shots. To decide to heal or to give up. No one can do it for you.”A story about coping, healing and acceptance.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Drarry - Relationship, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Kudos: 12





	1. Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After years of self-doubt and insecurities – I've decided to finally post a work of mine. Unheard of. I'm not guaranteeing it's anything spectacular, but whatever. 
> 
> A few things you should know about me before reading this: I am not a native English speaker and I've got a raging dyslexia, so if there's any grammar mistakes or expressions used incorrectly, I am deeply sorry. There was an attempt. I’m only here for a good time and to attack some characters. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Harry Potter Universe nor the characters, duh. JK don't come and whoop my ass. I also do not romanticize any mental health issues or diseases and if you're suffering with one, please do seek for help. They’re serious stuff. Also, my inbox on Tumblr (@valoale) is always open for anyone who seeks someone to talk to. 
> 
> And lastly, I’m handing out a special thank you for my beta. Ily sm and I couldn't have done this without you.

_May 2003._

Draco stared blankly at a black coffin in front of him. The coffin was placed on a dingy metallic rack in a dimly lit room and he could already hear the fire crackling in the cremation machine. He just stood there silently, not moving an inch even to sway to the other side to ease off the pressure building up in his legs.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” The wizard in charge of the cremation turned around to face him while he asked, and Draco took a long diplomatic pause. He didn’t even know why he tried to buy himself more time in that moment. This was something he couldn’t push away from him even though he was way out of his comfort zone and as if money or any other kind of payments never got him anything anyway. He knew better.

“There’s no one else”, He finally answered quietly to the man, not wanting to seem rude. For the first time in his life he finally said it out loud. They were alone and they had been alone for a long time now. There was no one left. “It’s just me.”

The funeral director just nodded in a respectful silence and Draco had to admire his dedication towards his work. The man didn’t show any form of disgust or displease and seemed to be very understanding and respectful towards Draco and the person resting in the coffin. He didn’t seem to be the type to judge them solely from their last name and all the rumours surrounding them, like other people. And Draco respected him. Vastly. His kindness made this transaction less torturous. Only a tad, because nothing in the whole wide world would make the loss of his beloved mother any less excruciating.

“Shall we begin then?” The director asked, causing Draco’s train of thought crash immediately. Draco nodded in agreement, trying to swallow the forming lump down in his dry throat. He would be able to stomach this. He was ready. Or so he kept telling himself. Which was a lie.

The funeral director started the cremation process with casting a few spells on the coffin Draco had never heard before and he watched his work intently from aside, tracing a few familiar scars on his chest anxiously in an obsessive manner. It was an unconscious habit these days. Whenever he felt anxious or just simply out of place, he had to trace the scars on his chest to kind of ground himself. It was kind of a way to remind himself of healing and no matter how bad things might feel in that moment; even the deepest scars would eventually heal. It gave him some weird solace which he clung on helplessly more often than he liked to admit.

He casted a variety of spells before the actual cremation. It gave Draco a minute to get prepared seeing the coffin being swallowed by the raging flames, but when it happened, the world Draco knew spun around on its axis and he was ready to collapse. But he had to be strong and respectful towards his mother. This was only a fraction of all the pain and trouble she had endured for him. And Draco loved her so much it physically hurt, and he wanted her to have all the respect with her through the whole funeral process. Even though her soul had already departed, he wanted to treat the body she had left behind like she was still here. It was the honourable thing to do.

The flames were surprisingly loud when they were swallowing the insides whole. The sound reminded Draco the horrible Fiendfyre that broke loose in the Room of Requirement once. His head swam in deep. All of this was too much to bear.

“Do you already have the burial place in mind?” The funeral director asked, and Draco was grateful for him to break into his thoughts before he was swallowed whole too.

“No”, he managed to say out loud with a weak voice, clearing his throat a bit.

“Do you want to take the urn with you, or do you want us to take care of the ashes?”

“I’ll take her with me”, Draco nearly cut in, receiving a concerned look from the director. Draco understood his response had been a tad too frantic to his tastes, but the thought of leaving his mother’s ashes behind like they were just dirt was like an act of crime. _Like he hadn’t done anything criminal before_ , he thought.

“As you wish.”

Five years since the war. Five years to mend and heal the wounds, but who would’ve thought they would only shatter one more? They said that time heals, and Draco called it all bullshit. It wasn’t the time that healed alone. There were loads of factors in the healing process. Time was just one of them. Rest of them were up to you and not so simple.

Draco took the last drag out of his cigarette before he threw away the butt, grinding it to the ground with the sole of his ridiculously expensive shoe. That’s literally how he felt these days. How pathetic even was to be able to relate with a destroyed cigarette butt to begin with?

After receiving the beautiful marble urn from the funeral home, Draco had quickly exited the building to the nearest empty street to disapparate from the watchful eyes of fellow wizards. Even after five years he didn’t want to be seen in the community that had shunt him out in the first place. They weren’t worth it. Why surround oneself with people who wished upon your death willingly? Draco didn’t want to interfere with their fake happiness in their newly renewed world. The happiness was just a façade guarding the fact that things in the wizarding community were just as badly corrupted and twisted as they used to be. And in some parts the corruption was even worse than a few years prior the war. So, he willingly kept it to himself. Isolation wasn’t as bad as one could think. He wasn’t sure whether it was just the hatred towards the people who had abandoned them in the time of need that fuelled his need to lurk in the shadows or had he just gotten used to the loneliness. Loneliness was a concept Draco was very much familiar with. And now it was the most present it had ever been in his short life. Losing both of his beloved parents in a short span of three years had surely been fun pastime activity.

He felt his feet land on the ground steadily after a successful apparition into an empty and narrow alleyway. He was relieved to acknowledge not a single muggle soul had seen him apparate there. He clutched the urn tighter when he made his way from the dark side alley to a well-kept curved street a few blocks away. The curved and lively street was packed with never-ending rows of identical white townhouses and if you didn’t know the exact number and location of the house you were looking for, you would get horribly lost faster than you’d guessed. It was the perfect location for someone who didn’t want to be found.

Draco had lived in number thirty of Lansdowne Cres. nearly ever since his trial after the war. He had purchased the townhouse after the first couple of unsuccessful nights back in the Manor. The war had tarnished the Malfoy Manor completely and left it haunted for him. It had become almost impossible to even step a foot inside the haunted walls without wanting to either collapse on the floor or flee as quickly as his feet allowed. He never understood why his mother was persistent enough to stay there and try to restore the building back to its former glory. Draco on the other hand was too much of a bloody coward to even consider staying.

He felt the thick wards securing his home shake his core when he stepped on the marble steps and with a subtle wave of his hand, he had dismantled them enough to let him pass. When activated, the wards would make a person forget why they were there in the first place and make them leave on the spot. He was quite proud of his handiwork, since it all had been produced by his mere hands. Even though he was legally a free man, he was still an ex-convict and the ministry didn’t allow him to own a wand of his own. At least not yet.

The air in the house was fresh and it smelled clean, like a crispy pine tree after the rain. The surroundings were homey and had been decorated with deep shades of green and black. The feeling of the safety of his own home was very comforting. Draco felt like he could finally breathe freely again.

He activated the wards guarding his home and removed the heavy emerald green cloak pressing down his pointy shoulders, sending it flying back to the big closet with a turn of his hand. He still clutched tightly to the urn like it was keeping him from falling from a great height or a nervous child clutching to a toy for comfort. Climbing a set of mahogany stairs leading to the upstairs living room, he made his way straight away to the grand fireplace in the centre of the room. He lifted the urn on the mantelpiece, granting a sad smile for it.

“Welcome home.”

After a week from his mother’s death and three days since the cremation, he still hadn’t managed to cry once. Oddly enough, he didn’t even feel like crying and he felt like he was irreversibly broken from the inside. All he expected from himself was the ability cry after his late mother, which he was unable to do. He had disappointed everyone in his life and now he had even disappointed himself. Maybe he was just so constipated emotionally he didn’t know what to feel. More likely _how_ to feel. Lately it all had been just a big void of numbness swallowing him whole. Was he a psychopath for wanting to laugh at himself?

An owl delivered him a letter that day. He recognized the owl immediately when it tapped the window of his home office with its large beak with a stern look. He let the big grey owl in and offered it grains before removing the scroll of parchment tied to its strong foot.  
  


_Just got back in town,_  
_Blaise told me what happened._  
_Unlock the floo, I need to see you, want it or not._  
_I fucking dare you._

_-Pansy_

  
Draco didn’t know why Pansy would even bother to write her own name into the parchment when the whole scroll smelled like her perfume and her writing didn’t leave much room for guessing. It was beyond him. But he decided to ignore that thought since he got bigger things to worry about, like the thought of his best friend pinching him with her bear claws and eating him alive as an appetizer didn’t sound like something he wanted to go through today. So, he decided to obey, and he did what she told him to do and unlocked the floo. She would appear there sooner or later.

Draco wasn’t wrong. That day at five o’clock he had just brewed a fresh pot of Earl Grey when he heard the flames flare loudly in the living room and the green glow filled the entire floor for a few seconds. A short young woman with sharply cut black hair emerged from the bright green flames, shaking soot off her shoulders.

“How’s Paris?” Draco asked her casually, blowing off steam from the rim of his mug like it was nothing. Pansy, on the other hand, stomped loudly to him and smacked him on his head with her open palm. The act made Draco yelp and spill some of his tea on the floor. “Oi! What the fuck?” Draco grimaced and lifted his free hand to rub his now aching head, glaring daggers at the shorter woman.

“Your mother dies while I’m out of town and you didn’t even bother to send me a bloody letter!” She scolded him loudly, smacking him again on the shoulder but now with her purse. “Give me a reason not to hex your balls off!”

“You know, this counts as abuse”, Draco tried to defend himself in vain, only receiving another smack of the purse.

“And I got to hear it from fucking Blaise Zabini!” She kept shouting and charged again at Draco, who now dodged the purse by squatting down.

“You share a bed!” Draco yelled back in his defence. “And I didn’t know where you were staying at!”

“You’re my best friend and you’re supposed to be the one who tells me these things and not the stupid boy who sleeps in my bed!”

“I know, I know!” Draco groaned and tried to rationalise to the embodiment of angered nest of bees. He just sighed audibly, lowering his voice to a near whisper when his gaze fell to their feet. “I just needed a moment alone. Blaise just happened to write me.”

Pansy sighed visibly hurt on Draco’s behalf, closing him into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry”, she whispered back with a broken voice and squeezed him tight, feeling the taller man circle his free arm around her slim body.

“I know”, Draco muttered almost inaudibly as he closed his eyes, resting his chin against the side of Pansy’s head whilst holding each other for a while in a complete silence. “I am too.”

“How did it happen?” Pansy finally asked and broke the heavy silence around them.

Draco swallowed before muttering quietly, “heart failure”, and Pansy didn’t seem to buy it.

“But her prognosis was so good”, she sighed in disbelief. “She was supposed to have more years.”

“I know. The healers don’t know what ate away the cardiac tissue so rapidly, and I hate being left into the unknown.” He was in denial. He knew it. He just couldn’t accept the fact that his mother was dead, and the healers had given them false hope before. He hated all of this. Right now, he carried a grudge towards them, and he wasn’t ready to let go of it anytime soon. Pansy just shook her head in utter disbelief as they parted, and Draco could see traces of tears behind her eyelids. Even she was able to produce tears for his late mother whilst he couldn’t still shed one. He looked at the half-spilt mug of tea in his hand deep in thought. “A cuppa?” He asked her and was granted a silent nod as an agreement.

“A cuppa would be nice”, she managed to say while she slumped down to a dark green velvet armchair facing the fireplace when Draco disappeared into the kitchen linked to the living room.

“Even though everything’s pure and utter shit right now, I was genuinely surprised but so relieved when The Daily Prophet didn’t mention anything about her passing”, Draco exhaled while rustling with the kettle. “And honestly, I’m ready to bribe the bloody editor to keep it that way. The low-class blasts about my father were more than enough at the time.”

“You know, you sound more like your father every day”, Pansy noted out and Draco wanted to give her credit for trying to make him feel better by teasing him rather than mothering over him and treating him like he was the most fragile thing ever ready to shatter any moment now. But what he really wanted to do, was to smack her across her face for pointing out the similarities between him and his father which he didn’t want to acknowledge as of now or never in that matter.

“Say that again and I’ll never unlock the floo for you again”, Draco groaned painfully as he returned to the living room holding two cups of steaming tea.

“I love you, you silly tit”, she said with a small smile and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek when Draco came to hand her the mug. “Please do your best to remember that.”

Draco’s insides turned into a fluttering knot when he heard those words, and his heart ached like hell. “I love you too”, he said with a tiny smile and sat next to her on the armrest, leaning against her.

“And repeat after me; I will not do anything stupid or reckless impulsively”, Pansy demanded, giving Draco a stern look, making sure Draco would regret his every life decision if he decided to cross her.

” I will not do anything stupid or reckless impulsively”, Draco repeated a tad amused, nursing his own cup of tea.

“And if you do, you’ll be answering to me, and Merlin forbid, I’ll come to whoop your arse if you do”, she glared sharply, and Draco couldn’t help but chuckle gently. He leaned to place a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“I know.”

It was in the dead of the night when they were still just laying around in Draco’s bed after a long nap. The nap came in handy and was very much needed, since he couldn’t even start to begin describing the amount of exhaustion he was currently in.

“I still haven’t managed to cry, and I don’t know why”, Draco broke the silence between them and kept staring at the ornate ceiling, tracing the patterns back and forth deep in thought. “Am I broken?”

“Maybe it’s the denial”, Pansy answered quietly under some pillows, still half asleep.

“Maybe”, Draco agreed quietly, trying to get a grasp on his racing thoughts. “It’s just hard to accept. Every day I’m waiting for her to either owl or floo me. I’m expecting her from every corner. And it’s hard to accept the fact that she’s irreversibly gone and never coming back. She’s the one I want to go to when things get bad. Pretending she’s just at the manor and just busy doing something is easier than accepting the fact that she’s dead and in a fucking jar on my mantelpiece. It just all seems too ridiculous.”

“Nothing tends to make sense these days anyway”, Pansy murmured against a plush pillow. “Everything’s just fucking ridiculous. People are extremely ridiculous, dwelling in their fake happiness and blindly believing that nothing can hurt them ever again now that the Dark Lord’s gone.”

“Exactly. Everyone’s just full of shit. Why I avoid people. I can’t stand them.”

“Honestly, I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing you’re doing. For a long time, I thought you were a complete lunatic for wanting to move here to live in a full-blown exile, but now I understand you completely.”

“Welcome to the club. Exile is comforting.”

“I’m seriously considering it”, Pansy revealed, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just way overwhelmed. More every day. Everything that’s expected from me is producing children, and everyone is just pressuring me into marrying Blaise. The sooner the better.”’

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know”, she groaned and rubbed her face angrily. “But let me tell you; I can guarantee that I won’t be pushing a single kid out of my body. Ever. I’d rather rip out my womb with my own bare hands rather than go through all of that.”

“I mean, it’s best for everyone if you won’t”, Draco admitted, turning to his other side to face Pansy. It wasn’t news to anyone Pansy didn’t want children and Draco couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want any either. One positive thing about having dead parents was the fact that he didn’t have to fight with them about that subject. “You should marry him though. Life is too futile.”

“Says the guy who only does hook-ups and never commits to anything, Merlin forbid to anyone”, Pansy snarled. She wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” With a roll of his eyes, Draco turned to lay on his back again. “Shouldn’t you be going home? Blaise must be worried”, he muttered and played with a loose thread on the hem of his sweater.

“He isn’t”, Pansy said with a tired yawn. “He knows I’m here, so he won’t be expecting me home anytime soon. I have promised to be fully available whenever you need, haven’t I?”

“You know you don’t have to babysit me. I’m okay.” It was useless trying to convince Pansy, but he did it anyway, failing miserably.

“No, you’re not.” She said with a stern voice. There was truth in her words. Maybe he should consider on stopping convincing himself otherwise. Pretending to be okay was only going to eat him up alive. He knew better, but he couldn’t help it.

“You aren’t either”, Draco shot back, not giving her any slack either. If he was to go down, he would take everyone else with him.

“I know”, she said lightly, and they fell silent for a longer while. At least Pansy was ready to admit it out loud. She had always been stronger than him. And he would always admire her strength. Pansy just crawled closer to him and Draco lifted his arm to let her place herself against him, closing her in. “Maybe we’ll be okay one day”, Pansy muttered quietly before she prepared to fall back to sleep. Draco just sighed heavily, feeling the pressure build up in his chest.

“Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna update this frequently since I've got like 10k in my drafts, but I'm horrible at keeping up with a schedule, so I am apologizing in advance if I am not going to able to make it to my weekly updates. But do know I am not abandoning this anytime soon. I've got a plan. 
> 
> \- Ale


	2. Numb

If it was physically possible to drown in the amount of paperwork he had, Harry would’ve happily gone down without a fight. Drowning sounded way more appealing than continuing in that dead-end job for the rest of his life. These days Harry wasn’t even sure why had he went through the Auror training in the first place. What the actual hell was he thinking a few years back? Once he had genuinely thought becoming an Auror was the right thing to do and that he would do a difference in the community. He had been dead wrong. Being an Auror was nothing like he had imagined. That realisation had been a big disappointment. He was overworked, underpaid and fed up. He hated his job, and he hated the overly exaggerated title he had received in the community once again. He was tired of nearly living in his office doing paperwork and rarely being on the field, not even mention seeing the insides of his own home from time to time. He was tired of people sucking up to him and almost licking the soles of his shoes when he walked by and treating him like he was godlike.  _ The Saviour _ . Even the Chosen One was ridiculous, but the Saviour was beyond absurd. Now that he was an official Auror he was preserved as one of the most influential wizards of all time. But by the end of the day he was still just Harry. Always had been and always would be. He just happened to accidentally against all the possible odds make one of the greatest dark wizards disappear. He just wanted people to give him some fucking space. No matter where he went, people would come up to him and just wouldn't let him be. When he went out in public, he always felt like a prey ready to flee from the predators. He barely had any privacy left and he hated going out in public. Who would’ve known his life would’ve turned out to be like this after the war? 

Amongst a lot of things, Harry also hated how he had gotten stuck in his office with paperwork once again, especially today when he had promised to visit the Weasleys and attend their usual Sunday roast for the first time in a long while. The whole family was probably already there waiting for him and he was still stuck in his office. He felt guilty about having to make the others wait for him and he didn’t want them to think he had done it on purpose. He was just way too overworked and making plans had become nearly impossible in the past few years. He had no other choice but to take the papers with him back home and finish them after the family dinner. Another sleepless night was ahead, but he was going to the Burrows just like he had promised. He wouldn’t bail on them, even if it meant unfinished paperwork. Work had to come second sometime. 

When Harry exited his office, he didn’t even make it to the floos on the main floor without a handful of people coming up to him eagerly. No one seemed to have any common understanding about personal space when it came to Harry. Everyone was just too eager to have his attention. He had to make a ton of rapid but polite excuses to get himself out of those situations and when he finally was able to floo out of that cursed building, he felt almost ecstatic. 

When Harry finally arrived at the Burrows, he was already two hours late from the time he had promised a few days ago and he felt shit about it. The floo in the living room flashed bright green and Harry stepped out shaking soot off his wrinkled and tattered jacket. He listened the accelerated conversation grow quiet in the kitchen and everyone around the long wooden table turned around to face the person who had just arrived with happy and eager faces. Harry’s didn’t match at all with them and he felt bad about it as well. 

“Harry!” Ron greeted him excitedly as he jumped up from his seat, joy glistering in his eyes. “I was worried you wouldn’t come!” 

“You and me both, mate”, Harry answered with a sigh and tried to form a smile as he saw the ever kind and lovely Molly Weasley nearly run up to him, taking his face into her both warm hands. 

“Harry, my dear, you look so exhausted! Were you at the Ministry?” She gasped and examined his tired face and the black circles around his eyes, getting a nod from Harry as an answer. “Good Merlin, it’s Sunday! Don’t they give you any free days?” She asked in horror.

“They can’t afford”, Harry answered quietly. It was the truth. The Wizarding World had been far too damaged by the war and fixing everything was way too tasking. Everything seemed to be in order on the outside, but things on the inside were a complete mess. The corruption was out of control and the self-righteous Death Eater convictions were slipping out of hands as well amongst other things. The Ministry thought everything was just fine if the pretty façade was kept on, and the people thought things were under control with the new Minister of Magic and his reign. Molly granted Harry an understanding nod and Harry could see the sorrow in the corner of her eyes, and it was painful. Harry hated having to mention the Ministry and the war to the Weasleys and remind them about their grand loss. More often than he liked to admit, he felt uneasy at the Burrows after the war. It was the survivor’s guilt that ate him up alive every time. He hated the fact that he had survived against all the odds while Fred and hundreds of others didn’t. Now wasn’t the time for self-loathing, he would do it once he got home with the damn papers from work. 

Molly granted him a small sad smile and Harry saw how she tried to look happy and welcoming despite her pain. She rubbed gently Harry’s upper back and cleared her throat, trying to lift the uneasy silence away in the kitchen. “Please Harry, do sit down and have something to eat, will you? You look parched”, she said while smiling, and Harry gave her an agreeing nod before he sat down to his usual spot on the table next to Ron, who was already eager to welcome him. Harry had to admire his ability to stay strong and positive despite people around him being constantly down, and he was always there to lend a shoulder to cry on and focus on the future with a weird glimpse of hope in the corner of his eyes. 

“I’ve missed you, mate”, Ron said with a big smile on his face, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder firmly but gently. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Yeah”, Harry agreed with an exhausted sigh. “I missed you guys too.”

“Hello Harry, how’ve you been?” Hermione chimed in. She was sat on the other side of Ron and her voice was so kind and happy it made Harry feel a bit more at ease. Harry was relieved no one was mad at him for arriving so late. Everyone had already almost finished eating, but Mrs. Weasley was only getting started with pushing different kinds of dishes at Harry, almost drowning him with the amount of food. 

“Fine”, Harry lied with a smile while he received a steaming pot of potatoes from Mrs. Weasley. He didn’t want to worry her and the people around the table for nothing, but Hermione saw right through him and he gave her a knowing look. He would tell her the whole story when they were alone. Hermione seemed to understand it right away and she nodded him back and wouldn’t bug him about it here and Harry was forever grateful for her. He wasn’t in the mood for everyone bombarding him with all the questions about his wellbeing. He was just happy to be there and be able to wind off for at least a little while. So, he decided to push everything completely out of his mind and reset his thoughts and just focused on piling food on his plate. It had been ages since he had eaten a proper warm meal after all. 

The Burrow was always nice and comforting. Harry had to admit it remained as one of his favourite places in the world and how much it meant to him hadn’t changed either during these years. It was like a sanctuary for him. Even though he had had the worst time during these few weeks, just a mere visit to the Burrows did wonders to his mood. All the people dearest to him were in the same room and he felt so homey and safe, but the creeping thought of going back home alone and returning to the endless cycle ruined his mood and the experience altogether. The papers in his bag by the door seemed to haunt him and he was unable to think about anything but work even though he desperately wanted to. The treacle tart he was eating was currently the best thing in his life and it was telling something.    
  
The dinner had been so lovely, and he had missed Mrs. Weasley’s cooking so much. He knew he should visit them more often than he did, but it was difficult to find time these days. He just wished his life was more than just his job, but that just seemed impossible. He knew he had to do something about it and yet he never did.

“Want to talk about it?” 

Harry was snapped awake from his thoughts when both Hermione and Ron sat down on the couch, both looking at him intently from each side. “Talk about what?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

“Whatever’s bugging you. You’ve been so quiet and withdrawn lately. We have eyes, don’t we?” Hermione urged and Ron nodded at him in agreement. Harry just sighed silently and pushed the last piece of the tart into his mouth, chewing it in silence.

“It’s a long story”, Harry answered briefly and that didn’t seem to satisfy neither Hermione nor Ron. 

“We’ve got time”, Hermione pushed. She didn’t seem to drop this off that easily, it appeared. Harry just paused for a minute to go over with possible solutions of what to and what not tell them. At the same time, he wanted to vent out everything possible and just stay quiet and say nothing. He had no clue what he should do in this kind of situation. He didn’t want to bother his best friends about his stupid problems about the job he wanted to do in the first place, when they had their own problems to worry about and their own war wounds to mend and losses to cope with. He knew he shouldn’t dwell alone, since it only had the habit of only making things worse. He just still didn’t know when to reach out, or to reach out at all. He knew better but still acted the opposite.

Hermione kept looking at him with a stern look while waiting for an answer, and Harry just let out a heavy sigh before he finally said; “I’m just  _ numb _ .” It had left both Hermione and Ron confused and at a loss of words, and Harry immediately regretted opening his mouth at all. “I guess I’m just tired”, Harry hastily tried to undo his words and shrug the subject off by trying to act as normal as he could, failing miserably. 

“Harry, you know you can’t carry on living like that”, Hermione finally said and looked at him with a pained look, which only made Harry even more uncomfortable. He knew he shouldn’t have opened his mouth at all.

“I know, ‘Mione”, he tried to convince her, cracking his knuckles anxiously. 

“I don’t think you really know, and we are really worried. All of us.”

“Yeah, mate. Is there something we could do?” Ron chimed in and Harry turned around in his seat to face him, but only shook his head.

“I don’t think there is. This is my issue to fix and I don’t want you two getting worried about it.”

“You know we’ll always worry”, said Hermione and gave Harry an encouraging simile. “But we will also be always here for you.” 

“Thank you”, Harry said and granted her a small smile in return. Hermione’s words really warmed up his heart and he remembered how lucky he was to have friends like them. “I’ll try to remember it.”

“I’m going to make sure you’ll remember it”, Ron grinned a bit as he tried to lift the mood and cheer Harry up, succeeding at it easily. It worked almost every time. 

“You’ll do that”, Harry grinned back and playfully punched Ron on his shoulder.

He arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place late at that evening. Even though it had been nice being surrounded by all the people important to him, he was almost relieved to be alone again. He felt a bit guilty about it. He had become talented at pushing people away lately and that was a skill he wasn’t quite proud of. It had taken its toll on him and he had suffered the consequences of it, one crucial of them was his breakup with Ginny a year back. Harry didn’t blame Ginny at all for wanting to just stay as friends when Harry was nearly always unavailable and distant, and the fact that they wanted different things in life. Harry felt lucky to still be able to be good friends with her after everything. She was one of the most important people in his life and he was glad she hadn’t turned her back on him even though he had treated her wrong. She deserved so much more than him. Harry was sure there was something else on their breakup, but he wasn’t quite sure what though. 

Harry was almost ready to admit that he missed being in a relationship. Returning home alone was downright sad and the loneliness crept up on him mercilessly. He missed the certainty and the comfort of it and having someone dear close to him was something he cherished a lot. He wanted someone to be close to and share the details about his awful day and fall asleep surrounded by the warmth of another person, but all he got was the cold and dingy townhouse he had inherited and the ever stubborn Kreacher looming in the shadows and refusing to leave. 

Even though the exhaustion was taking over him, he still put the kettle on to have his last cup of tea of the day before he would go to bed. He just dropped the weight of his body to a creaking chair in the kitchen and spread the papers from work in front of him, staring down at them in complete desperation. Like Hermione said, he couldn’t continue living like that. He really had to make a change for once in his life. But he just didn’t know how and when. If he wasn’t an Auror, what would he be then? Would people leave him alone if he quit his job? What would he do for a living if he stopped going to work one day?

More importantly, what did he even want to do with his life? 

A few hours he spent going through the reports and wrote his own about a case they had solved recently. He brewed another cup of tea. And another one. And a few more. But no amount of tea was enough to keep him going. He tried to fight off his exhaustion, but it was a losing battle, which he lost faster than he anticipated and soon he was drooling calmly on the case files resting on his dining table. 

Harry was awoken by a blinding neck pain a few hours later. It was already dawn and he had spent the short night sleeping on his kitchen table instead of in his bed. He had the urge to pat himself on the back.  _ Well done _ , he muttered to himself under his breath. His admirers should just see him now. So majestic and powerful wizard he was for sure. 

Harry looked down at the wrinkled pieces of parchment on the table and wasn’t surprised to see the ink all smudged by his drool. He probably had a huge ink stain on his face as well. If he had, he hoped it would come off easily because no way he would show up to work rocking a black stain on his face like a weird fashion statement. He walked up to the nearest reflective surface to find a smudged ink stain on his cheek, messing up both his skin and the short stubble on his chin--. Brilliant. Harry just knew this was going to be a wonderful day for sure.

The ink stain was easier to get rid of than he had anticipated, but Harry found himself completely stuck in the shower. For a while he just stood completely still under the warm water, seriously considering the possibility of not showing up at work at all. All he wanted to do was to crawl back into his bed and sleep for a week and not go to work and have a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt the first thing in the morning. 

After he got dressed into his Auror robes, he shot a yearning look at his bed and he had to physically drag himself out of the room to prevent himself from falling on it because he knew he wouldn’t be able to get up once he flopped down. 

One day he was going to be able to sleep as much as he wanted. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God it's so boring but please hang on. I might release the third chapter soonish. 
> 
> And a special thanks to my beta again for the super quick and efficient proofreading.


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